The Sky and the Nest

You are the sky and you are the nest
and you are beautiful, and in the nest
it is your love that encloses my soul
with shades and sounds and scents!

There morning comes with the golden basket
bearing in her right hand the wreath
of beauty, silently to crown the earth
before the early birds catch the worm.

And evening comes over the lonely meadows
deserted by herds and through trackless paths
carrying cool currents of peace in her golden
jug from the western ocean of rest.

But the infinite sky spreads space for the soul
to take flight to regions where reigns the radiance
spotless white with no day nor night, nor form
nor colour where word is neither loud, nor in silence.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 67

Henry Victor          28.12.2012

Me and My Songs

 
My God, the Greatest Poet, I am ready to give you drink
from this cup, or food from this plate, from my very life.
It is your delight seeing your creation with my eyes, silently
standing at the portals of my ears listening to your harmony.

Your world is weaving words in my mind

and your joy is adding music to them
as you give yourself to me in love, and then feel
your own sweetness within, and through me.
 
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 65

Henry Victor          27.12.2012

Rhythmic Rush

All things rush, stopping not

looking not behind, and no power
can hold them back, for they rush
with that rhythmic rush.

It is not beyond you to be glad
with the gladness of this rhythm
being tossed and lost and broken
in the flick of this fearful joy.

You keep steps with that restless rapid music

of seasons that come to dance and pass away
with colours, tunes, and perfumes pouring in endless
flows of joy scattering, dying every moment.
 

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 70

Henry Victor          22.12.2012

Songs of Separation

The pangs of separation ever melt and flow

into songs through my poetic heart, a home
for sufferings and joy; this overspreading pain
seeps from that deepened loves and desires.

The songs of separation spread in the world

giving birth to innumerable shapes in the sky
gazing in silence all nights from star to star
becoming lyric in rustling leaves in darkness.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 84

Henry Victor          14.12.2012

 

Love with Love

In my heart your joy overflows

into which you have made your home!
O Lord of all heavens, I wonder
if I were not, where your love would be!

You have taken me as your trusted partner

of all this wealth, all heavens and this earth
placing in my soul your joyful, endless play
and in my life is your will taking a solider shape.

For this you, the King of kings has come down

with all your splendour to captivate my mind
and for this your love loses in the love of your lover
with you becoming visible in that perfect union of two.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 56

Henry Victor          13.12.2012

Wake Up

Laziness is in your heart and sleep
fills your eyes knowing not the flower
is reigning in splendour among thorns!

Wake up my soul, waste not the time
any more, for at the end of the stony path
in the country of virgin solitude is my friend
sitting alone; disappoint him not!

The sky may pant and tremble with the heat
of the midday sun burning sand, spreading
its mantle of thirst, but you have joy in heart
in the depth, and at your footstep the harp
on your road will break into sweet music of pain!

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 55

Henry Victor          12.12.2012

Sharper Sword

I thought I should ask for the garland of roses around
your neck but I was wary, hence, waited for the dawn
for you to depart to find few fragments on bed, searching
like a beggar for a stray petal, or two, in the morning.

But I find no flower, not even a petal, or any other sign
of your love left behind, no spices, and no jar of perfume
but it is your sharp sword from the sheath removed
flashing as a flame and heavy as a bolt of thunder.

The new light of morning probed through the window
and spread on your bed while the early bird twittered
and queried what gift I had received: was it a flower
or spices, or a jar of perfume, but why an awful sword?

I pause to muse with awe: what gift is this of yours
I cannot even hide, and as frail as I am, I am ashamed
also to wear for it hurts me if I pressed to my bosom
yet I shall bear in heart this honour, the token of pain.

From this moment I shall have no fear in this world
of many ties, and you will be victorious in  my striving
for you have left death as my companion and I crown
him with my life, cutting with this sword all my bonds.

Lord of my life from now onwards I leave all dolls
and petty cosmetics, with no more waiting and weeping
in corners, and I shall carry no more shyness, or niceness
but this sword you have given me as an adornment.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 52

Henry Victor          11.12.2012

Agony of Missing

If I do not meet you in this life
let me then forever feel that missing
forgetting not the pain of not seeing
you and carry this sorrow
both in my dreams and in wakeful hours.

As I pass my days in markets with profits
weighing me down let me count my gain
nil if I had missed you and carry this misery
the sorrow of missing you
both in my dreams and in wakeful hours.

When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting
and spread my bed to rest, help me keep in mind
the journey is long until I meet you
and to miss you is agony, a sorrow I must carry
both in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When my home has been decorated and the flute
sound and laughter are loud, let me feel my failure
to invite you into my house, and without you
there is only emptiness, a sting I must carry
both in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 79

Henry Victor          08.12.2012

Time to Go

The day is no more and the shade
is on the face of the earth with time to go
to the stream to fill my pitcher, for the evening
air is zealous with the sad music of the water.

It calls me into the dusk
with no passer-by in the lonely
lane winding through the twilight
and the ripples are rampant in the river.

I know not if I shall come back home
and I know not whom, by chance, I shall meet
but at the fording in a little boat
the unknown man plays his lute.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 74

Henry Victor          05.12.2012

Embracing Defeat and Death

I will place at your feet
awards and garlands of all my defeat
that I had no power to evade.

My pride too will not escape my heart
as my life bursts into exceeding pain
with an empty soul sobbing music as a hollow
reed capable of melting even a stone to tears.

I know, for certain, the tens of petals
of a lotus will not remain forever closed
and the secret respite from its honey
at that moment, for me will be unclosed.

From the void blue sky an eye shall gaze
on me and summon me in silence
leaving nothing for me, nothing whatsoever
and utter death I shall receive at your feet.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 98

Henry Victor          04.12.2012

Farewell Speech

As I, this blessed one, take leave to continue
my journey let these be my parting words:

I have thus far seen nothing
but the unsurpassable,
and tasted the hidden honey of this lotus
expanding in the ocean of light.

And in this playhouse of forms
so infinite, I have had my play
and I have caught sight of him
that is unendingly formless.

My whole body and my limbs
are thrilled, already, with his touch
who is beyond touch, and if the end
already has come, let it so be.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 96

Henry Victor          03.12.2012

For My New Journey

At this moment of my parting from you

wish me good luck, my friends, for the sky
is glowing with a new dawn, inviting me
to my path that recoils so beautifully.

Ask not what I have with me to take there

for I start on my journey with empty hands
but an expectant heart, putting on also my wedding
garland without the red-brown dress of the traveller.

Though there are dangers on my way I still have no fear

in heart, for the evening star, also, will soon come out
and when my trip is done the lamenting tune, the refrain
of the dusk, too will be removed at the heaven’s door.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 94

Henry Victor          27.11.2012

The Edge of Life and Death

I was not aware of the moment that I first
crossed the edge of this present life, and I am unaware
of the power that exposed me into this unfamiliar
jungle like a bud in the forest at midnight.

But in the morning when I looked upon the light
I felt instantly that I was no stranger in this world
and that the impenetrable without name and form
had taken me in the arms in the form of my own mother.

And I know in death the same unknown will appear
as ever known, and since I love this life I know, for certain
I shall love death as well, for the child cries out only briefly
when the mother takes away the right breast to offer the left.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 95

Henry Victor          26.11.2012

Moment to Let Go Control

The time has come for you to take the helm

that I controlled in the past, and now the moment
for me to let go control has come, and I know
what there is to do will be done instantly.

Vain, therefore, is this struggle, oh my soul;
take away your hand, putting up silently

with your defeat and think it your good fortune
to sit perfectly still where you are presently placed.

I tried to light lamps forgetting all else are blown

out again and again at every little puff of wind;
but I shall be wise this time, my Lord, and wait in the dark
spreading my mat on the floor for you to take your seat.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 99

Henry Victor          25.11.2012

Diwali, Festival of Light

Light, oh my light, my adorable,
filling, and over-flowing
in my world, oh light you caress
my eyes, sweetening my soul.

Dancing at the center of my being
you, oh light, strike the chords of my love
and the sky opens for the wind to run wild
even as laughter passes over my space.

In you, oh the sea of light, the butterflies spread
their sails as the lilies and jasmines surge
on the crest of your waves as you shatter
and scatter gold on clouds, gems in surplus.

Then more laughter spreads from leaf to leaf
an abundance of gladness
for the heaven's river too has broken its banks
as the flood of joy floods the entire cosmos.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 57

Henry Victor          12.11.2012

Returning to You

As I salute you, my God,
invisible, immortal and un-nameable,
let my senses spread
to touch this world, your foot-stool.

Like a July rain-cloud so low, unshed showers,
let my mind bend to greet you at your door
with my songs of diverse strains threaded in a single
current, and flow into you, a sea of silence.

Like a flock of cranes flying
night and day to their mountain nests
let my life journey into you, my home
that is eternal, and my love.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 103

Henry Victor          09.11.2012

Unending Time

Time is unending in your hands, my Master
and there is none to count your minutes
as days and nights pass and ages blossom
and fade like flowers even as you wait.

Centuries follow each other perfecting a small
wild flower and with us we have no time to lose
and having no time we must scramble and crawl
for a chance as we are too poor to be late.

It is time that goes by as I give it to every man
critically claiming it, while your altar is empty
of offerings to the last, and at the end of the day I rush
in fear your gate will be shut but to find yet there is time.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 82

Henry Victor          31.10.2012

Dancing Delusion

It is maya, delusion I create as I magnify
myself on all sides and cast coloured shadows
on your radiance, a barrier to your own being
calling your severed self in myriad notes.

Your self-separation in my body is your defeat
creating the poignant song echoing in the sky
those many coloured tears, smiles, alarms and hopes
with waves rising to sink, dreams breaking to form.

This screen you have painted with the brush
of the night and day, those innumerable figures
in front of your seat, is woven in wondrous mysteries
of curves, casting away barren lines of straightness.

The great pageant of you and me has overspread
the sky with the tune and dance of you and me,
and all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass
with the hiding and seeking of you and me.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 71

Henry Victor          14.10.2012

Light

Oh, the source of all light!
Where is the light?
Light it with the burning fire
that desire!

There is the lamp
but never a flicker of a flame
Is such your fate, my heart?
Wouldn’t death be far better for you!

Misery knocks at your door
and her message is that your lord is wakeful
and he calls you to the love date
through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast, nothing but gloom
with clouds and ceaseless rain
and I know not what this stirring
within me, certainly not its meaning.

A moment's flash of lightning in my sight
drags down a deeper gloom
and my heart gropes for the path
to where the music of the night calls me.

Oh, the source of all light
Where is the light?
Light it with the burning fire
that desire!

It thunders and the wind rushes screaming
through the void of the night that is black
black as a black stone.
Let not the hours pass by in the dark.

Oh, the source of all light!
Light the lamp of love
within me with your life
that burning fire, that desire!

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 27

Henry Victor          09.10.2012